Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  “Kala’niasha,” Aleija says softly, offering her condolences.

  I nod. “I’m trying to be patient with him, but we’re running out of time. If he doesn’t cooperate tonight … I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Lejv will be selected without competition,” Aleija says simply. “And Eros will likely be arrested again as soon as the coronation is over, if he is unwise enough to still be here.”

  “And if he isn’t still here, he’ll be hunted,” I add.

  “Most likely.”

  I bite my lip. “I tried to explain that to him, but he just … it’s like it doesn’t even matter to him.”

  “Then maybe he’s not meant for the position,” Aleija says. “Which is a shame, because he would have had my support. And I think, with some careful maneuvering, he could have Simos’s support, as well.”

  Now that is unexpected. “Truly? I wouldn’t have thought Simos would support a half-blood.”

  She sighs and touches the edge of her dark braid. “In most circumstances, he probably wouldn’t, but he and Lejv have an unpleasant history. As they’re both from Ona, this isn’t the first time they’ve crossed circles, and Lejv has been … well, he was less than polite when Simos married Ejren.”

  I grimace. “I thought most in Ona were accepting of lijarae.”

  “Most are. Lejv just isn’t one of them.”

  I shake my head. “Is that the reason you’re willing to support Eros, as well?”

  “Not the only reason, but it does factor into my decision, sha.”

  I nod. “Well, I haven’t given up on Eros yet. He just needs more time to process. Kala willing, the time remaining before the formal tonight will be enough.”

  “Kala willing.” Aleija hesitates then glances at me. “If not, you may want to leave Asheron with him. It’s not a crime to support Eros openly, but you won’t be welcome under anyone else’s rule.”

  “I know.”

  Aleija nods. “I wish you all the best, Kora d’Elja. May Kala smile upon you.”

  I thank her, and we part, but I can’t help suspecting I’ll need more than Kala’s fortune to convince Eros to claim what’s his.

  I just hope I can manage it before it’s too late.

  I find Deimos, Eros, and Mal in the hall on the way back to Eros’s rooms. Eros and Mal are dressed in casual Ona attire—Eros managed to find a sleeveless shirt without the ridiculous collar so in fashion here—while Deimos proudly wears his A’Sharo skin-tight shirt and Eljan-like loose pants.

  “Kora!” Deimos says cheerfully. “We were just about to introduce Mal to the palace grounds. You should join us.”

  I force a weak smile and glance at Eros. My stomach is in knots. My palms are slick with sweat. But I’ve been putting this off too long. It’s time. “I actually need to speak with Eros. Privately, if possible.”

  Deimos looks at Eros as Eros glances at Mal. “I can show him around,” Deimos says quickly. “At least, if Mal is comfortable with that?”

  Mal shrugs. “It’s okay with me.”

  Eros arches an eyebrow. “It is?”

  “Deimos is okay,” he answers.

  Deimos grins. “I’m okay? What a stunning note of support—maybe after I introduce you to the grounds I’ll be promoted to acceptable?”

  Mal laughs, and a ghost of a smile crosses over Eros’s mouth.

  “Okay,” Eros says. “I’ll meet you both out there.”

  Deimos smiles and takes Mal’s shoulder. “We’ll see you soon.”

  The two continue down the hall with Deimos carefully guiding him, and Eros looks at me. I nod back toward his rooms and we walk back in silence. When the doors have closed behind us, Eros takes several paces to distance himself from me and then turns and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Well,” he says stiffly, “you have my attention. What do you want?”

  I hesitate. “I haven’t had the chance to talk to you privately after the … the nanite attack. Is your—I know you brought Mal with you, but …”

  Eros’s face darkens and my blood goes cold. “My nephew isn’t here with me because I thought it’d be fun.”

  Something clenches around my heart—I’d guessed as much, but hearing it confirmed … I step toward him, but he matches it with a step back. “Eros,” I start, but he scowls.

  “Is that why you pulled me aside? Morbid curiosity?”

  I wince. “Naï, I … I wanted to apologize—and still do. For earlier today, and for … ” I take a deep breath. I need to do this—I should have done so the first moment I saw him again. But it seemed the wrong time at the rebel encampment, and it seemed the wrong time on the drive back, and it seemed the wrong time again and again until I had to admit it was never the timing, it was me. I was putting it off. So I’m making it the right time.

  Now.

  “I never apologized for the way I treated you after our … after the kiss. It was wrong—what I did after that moment together was hurtful and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it, but I was scared, and I lashed out, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He stares at me for a long moment before his gaze drifts away. What more is there to say? Is there anything else I should be saying? But I’ve said what I needed to and the words are out and …

  What if he doesn’t forgive me? The thought sits like a cold rock in my gut. Maybe my apology is too little too late. Maybe I irreparably broke whatever we had.

  I love him, but maybe rejecting him when he was at his most vulnerable was too much. Maybe I’ll regret the moment I allowed fear to corrupt my words and actions into something ugly for the rest of my life.

  “Is that all?” he says at last, and my stomach sinks.

  The words are sitting on the edge of my tongue: I love you.

  But instead I say, “Sha,” and curse my own cowardice. “It was an overdue apology and … probably not enough at this point. But if you’ll have me, I’m not afraid anymore. Not of us, not like I was.”

  A sound almost like a laugh—but colder, hollower—escapes Eros’s lips. “Naï, of course not—not when I might become Sira, right? With a title like that I’m finally worthy of your affection.”

  Heat snakes up my neck and slams into my chest. “Naï, Eros, it’s not like that—it was never about worthiness. I was just so afraid of what might happen if we … I have real feelings for you, Eros.”

  Say it. I have to say it.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and force out the words, even as they scrape their way up my throat. “I love you.”

  A breath. My whole body tingles with the edge of panic when he doesn’t look at me. When he doesn’t speak. When my words hang between us and I can’t take them back and I need him to say he forgives me.

  “So did I,” he says flatly.

  Past tense. The words bury hooks into my heart and tear.

  “But not anymore,” I whisper.

  Eros shakes his head. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I—I wanted an apology, but … ” He sighs. “Hearing you apologize and say that should make me happy but I’m just … tired. I can’t focus on what I may or may not be feeling around you—I guess there’s too much going on right now. I really don’t know.”

  My eyes sting, my chest aches, but I bite my lip and nod. It’s okay—of course it’s okay, of course I can’t expect him to be ready to have this conversation, not now, not after everything that’s happened. He’s right. We have bigger things to worry about now. Our feelings don’t matter when the planet is on the brink of chaos.

  I inhale deeply. My breath shakes. “Okay. Well, you’re right, we do need to talk about more pressing matters, like what you intend to do. If you don’t want to do this, Eros, I understand, but then it’s not safe for Mal or you here. As soon as the next Sira is chosen—”

  “I know.” His shoulders slump as he turns to the window. He leans his temple against the windowpane and closes his eyes. “If the royals ever doubted I was a threat before, they don’t now.
Serek made sure everyone on the blazing planet would take my fucken birthright seriously.”

  I walk to the other side of the window, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult.”

  He laughs again, and it sounds almost like a sob. When he opens his eyes, his posture, the shadows beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin—he’s exhausted.

  “I … also have this.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring of Sirae—the one Serek had taken from Eros for safekeeping, the one I had to take from his corpse moments after he died. The ring that first made everyone realize Eros wasn’t just related to any high royal—he was related to the last former Sira seen with the ring. To Asha.

  I place the ring on the windowsill, and Eros picks it up and sighs. For a long moment, he just looks at it, his eyes full of storms.

  “I’ll do it,” he says at last, but his words aren’t one of a man confident in his candidacy—they’re the words of a boy too tired to fight it anymore. And I wish I could excuse him from this—I wish I could tell him he didn’t have to fight to become Sira. I wish I could tell him he could leave right now and live the quiet, peaceful life he’s always wanted.

  But I can’t say any of those things because we know the truth all too well.

  Becoming Sira isn’t a political move for Eros.

  It’s survival.

  I catch up with Deimos and Mal outside, sitting at the edge of one of the two fountains in the palace courtyard, but when I tell them I won’t be able to join them for their tour because I need to prepare for tonight’s evening meal with Kora, neither of them seem surprised.

  “Mal and I will do the tour on our own.” Deimos smiles. “Don’t worry about it—I’ll keep him safe, fed, and entertained while you work.”

  “Is that okay?” I ask Mal, and he shrugs.

  “If you trust him, I guess I do, too. He hasn’t been a jerk to me yet, at least.”

  Deimos smirks. “Oh, is that all it takes to win your approval?”

  Mal smiles faintly.

  But before I trust him to take care of Mal on his own, there’s another question that needs answering.

  “Why are you helping me?” I look at Deimos—Sepharon through and through, and royalty. It’s in his mismatched eyes, in his height—taller than me, though not by much, and way taller than most humans—in the asymmetrical markings on his skin and the tattoos on his neck and arms. It’s in the way he holds himself—confident, unyielding—and the way he walks into every room knowing he could charm anyone he wanted to.

  It’s also why I never expected him to try it on me with snide comments and winking smiles.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been at ease enough to be attracted to a guy—not because my capacity to be into guys wasn’t there, but because letting my guard down around guys at camp was dangerous. Girls maybe looked at me with disgust, but until I learned to defend myself, the men and boys were the ones who taught me impromptu lessons about my place in the world. The guys at camp reminded me time and time again that letting my guard down around them could be the last mistake I ever made.

  And even away from all that, not so long ago, everything about Deimos would have been a reminder of what I’m not and what I thought I never would be. I’ve never been able to trust men like Deimos before. But now?

  Now I may not trust him completely, but I trust he doesn’t want to hurt me. And with that danger out of the way, it’s impossible to ignore his magnetic smile and contagious laugh—and he knows it. But still …

  “Men of privilege like you aren’t usually my supporters,” I say. “I don’t know anything about you—why aren’t you out there supporting one of the candidates or placing a bid yourself?”

  Deimos smiles weakly. “Well, to start with, I wouldn’t wish becoming Sira on my greatest enemy.”

  I grimace.

  “Secondly—and more importantly—I believe Serek. He was an honorable man, and he wouldn’t have publicly supported your bid, and with his dying breath no less, if he didn’t believe you were meant to be on the throne and you’d be good for Safara.” He shrugs. “I know the way you’ve likely been treated your whole life doesn’t lend you to believe there are Sepharon who think the mistreatment of humans and execution of half-bloods is wrong. But we do exist, and I’m one of them. So if Serek says you’re his nephew and deserve to be on the throne, then that’s good enough for me.”

  Eight sets ago, I never would have imagined I’d get the chance to claim my right to the throne—or that I’d ever want to.

  And the truth is, I wouldn’t be here if Serek hadn’t sent a message to the whole blazing world declaring me the next ruler and asking me to return. But I’m here, and Mal’s here, and Kora and some Sepharon prince are standing behind me, and if I turn away now, I’ll be turning away the only chance Mal has to get better, the only chance thousands of kids like him have to live a free life.

  The only chance we both have to live at all.

  This isn’t about me—this has never been about me. This is about making the world a better and safer place for Mal. And I may not want any of this, but I can’t turn away. Not if we want to live. Not anymore.

  “Well … I appreciate it,” I say. “I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you, but—”

  Deimos lifts his hands almost defensively, but he’s smiling—a gesture I haven’t seen before. Must be an A’Sharon thing. “You’re already making it up to me,” he says, “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had an entertaining morning exercise partner.”

  I smile weakly. “All right, well … if Mal needs anything, you know where to find me.”

  “I’m right here,” Mal says. “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean you have to talk about me like I’m not standing right in front of you.”

  Deimos laughs as I cringe. “Spirited.” He pats Mal on the shoulder. “You and I will get along just fine.”

  Mal shrugs, but he’s smiling, too, so I guess everything really is okay.

  “Go,” Deimos says. “Prepare with Kora, and we’ll join you later so I can share my pretending-to-be-important wisdom.”

  And though spending time with Kora is the last thing I want to do, I head back to the room. But unexpectedly, as I walk away, a smile tugs on my lips.

  Lying on the floor, the fibers of the red-sand-soft throw rug beneath me, staring at the ceiling, Kora’s words drift over me like rain. Harder than rain—supposedly ice falls from the sky sometimes in the north, maybe more like that. Hard, unwanted words slapping my skin and bouncing off.

  I don’t know how long we’ve been at it—me pretending not to be blazed and Kora explaining the rules of the Emergency Council and who is on it, and who is here, and where they’re from, and what each of them are like, and who is likely to support me, and who is likely to support my execution if I don’t win, and what the process is for choosing a Sira when inheritance is disputed like now, and, and, and—

  “Eros, are you even listening to me?”

  Kora is sitting beside me, cross-legged, and her narrowed eyes and stiff posture say as I suspected—she’s getting as fed up with this as I am.

  “Ashen is the former Sira,” I say. “The final call will probably go to him.”

  “Possibly, not probably—it will depend on how involved the priests are, or how close the decision is.”

  “Which isn’t likely to be close at all,” I say. “Given I’m a half-blood and most of them hate me by default.”

  “You have Avra-saï Aleija and ko Jule da Daïvi’s support, and Aleija thinks you may be able to get Avra-kaï Simos and ko Ejren d’Ona’s support, as well.”

  “Which makes two territories. Maybe.”

  Kora hesitates. “Well … not quite. You’ll need the support from former Avra Lija and former Avra Tamus as well to get full support of the territories. Lija is probable—especially as Aleija is already supporting you—but Tamus is more traditional and would be more challenging to convince.”
>
  “So maybe one and a half out of nine. Not exactly encouraging odds.”

  “Six, not nine,” Kora says. “Elja doesn’t have a representative, as all of the former Avrae aside from me have passed on, and I don’t count because I was removed. There isn’t a former Sira representing Sekka’l or Invino either, though, for the same reason. So you only need to convince five former Avrae and the former Sira and garner enough support from the territory royals who arrived to run and give their support.”

  “Which is … did you say twelve people?”

  “Fourteen, including the spouses.”

  I press my palms over my eyes. “So you’re saying right now I have two out of fourteen.”

  “Three. Deimos hasn’t announced it officially yet, but he’s already told me he’ll back you.”

  Nice of him. “His brother won’t be happy.”

  Kora grimaces. “And neither will his grandfather, Oniks, who is on the council. But it doesn’t matter—he’s permitted to lend his support to whoever he wants, and he’s assured me he won’t be intimidated out of supporting you.”

  “So three out of fourteen. Great.”

  “If you get Simos and Ejren on board, and Aleija convinces former Avra Lija, it’ll be six, which is nearly half.”

  “Right, but most of those people won’t be on the Council, who have the final say.”

  “That’s true,” Kora admits. “They don’t get a vote, but they can influence the six Council members who do. So if you get Simos and Ejren to support you, for example, you may be able to convince former Avra Tamus, as well—and then you’ll have two on the council behind you.”

  “I thought you said Tamus was a long shot.”

  She shrugs. “He is, but I didn’t say it was impossible.”

  My mind spins with names and numbers and probabilities pointing me again and again to the arena with my head on the block.